


Every Day is Gay Lover's Day

by der_tanzer



Series: Protective Custody [9]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time it's Quinlan's turn to say he's sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day is Gay Lover's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Tag for Father's Day, so some spoilers there. The title is borrowed from that famous Friends episode, where Ross and Susan were fighting over Carol's baby. ("Everyone knows who you are. There's mother's day, there's father's day—there's no lesbian lover's day." "_Every_ day is lesbian lover's day!")  
> 

Nick was the first to see Quinlan coming down the gangway, and turned to Cody, eyebrows raised. Cody gave him a quizzical look, then turned to follow his gaze. Murray, seeing the sudden tension in their bodies, stood up to see what had interrupted the conversation. When he saw the lieutenant, he stepped up into the wheelhouse and disappeared inside. His friends stayed behind on the fantail, uncertain whether to be pleased by this new development or not. In their heads they were replaying all the things Quinlan had said to them during the case, as Murray surely was. The insults, the name-calling, the total lack of faith in them, in spite of the evidence. It had been a bad time all around, and they wondered if he was here to apologize or maybe make it worse.

"Something we can do for you, Lieutenant?" Nick asked as Quinlan boarded the boat. He didn't ask permission. But then, he never had.

"I—uh—just came by to see if Cheryl got off all right. You three aren't still babysitting, are you?"

"No, they're probably in Chicago right now, waiting for their connecting flight."

"That's good," he said vaguely, looking around as if for a place to sit, or maybe just a friendly face. Neither was immediately evident. "Look, I really just wanted to say I was sorry for not listening to you before. Cops are protective of each other. We have to be. I couldn't go after a superior officer without a lot more proof than you three were bringing me."

"Sure, sure," Cody said smoothly. "We understand that. Even if we are just cartoon characters."

"Yeah," Nick added, grinning almost sincerely. "Cartoons have advanced a lot since you were a kid."

"All right, all right, what do you want from me?"

"Oh, we don't want anything," Cody said. "What could Quinlan possibly offer _us_, Nick?"

"Nothing that I can think of," he shrugged, and turned back to the grill.

"Shit," Quinlan muttered, pretending not to see their satisfied expressions. "Where's Bozinsky? I oughta thank him. He's the one who broke this thing, as usual."

"He's over at _The Lobster Pot_ trying to pick up girls," Nick said without turning around. "Told us not to wait up."

"That must be that famous Ryder sense of humor I've heard so much about. Is he in his room?"

"Lieutenant, I don't know if that's any of your business," he said, finally putting down the spatula and turning to face the other man again.

"Nick, come on," Cody sighed. "We can't protect Murray forever."

"I don't see why not. He's _our_ Boz, man. This guy's got nothing to do with us."

"Maybe that was true once, but things change, buddy. Ted, you promise not to make trouble and I'll take you down there. Maybe Murray'll talk to you."

"I can find my own way."

"I'm sure you can, but it's still my boat."

Quinlan sighed, looking thoroughly disgusted, but followed him into the salon. Inside, he took off his aviator shades and put them in his pocket, then immediately felt too vulnerable and put them back on. He didn't look around as they went through the galley and stood back a bit while Cody asked permission to come in. Murray called to him, his voice bright and cheerful. Quinlan's heart soared, and then reality struck him down. Murray didn't know he was there. He probably thought Cody had come to tell him it was safe to come out.

"Hey, Boz. Lieutenant Quinlan's here. He wants to come in for a minute," Cody said, leaning in the door. To be fair, there was no hint of judgment in his tone, no implication that he wanted Murray to say no.

"What does he want?" Murray asked, a lot of the brightness gone from his voice.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

"All right," he sighed, and Cody stepped back from the doorway.

"That's all I can do, Lieutenant. You're on your own." He turned and walked away without another word. It seemed cruel, but later Ted would understand. In his own way, for his own reasons, Cody was on his side.

"What do you want?" Murray asked, rising from behind his desk as Ted stepped in. He'd come down here in a hurry and was still wearing his goofy fishing hat, the open throat of his shirt making his neck seem even longer, and those shorts—it was a good thirty seconds before Ted could get himself to stop staring at Murray's legs.

"Just wanted to—uh—thank you," he said, taking off his sunglasses at last. "For all the work you did on the case. For your friend, and for Father Bob."

"They've already thanked me," Murray said stiffly. "If that's all, I really have a lot of work to do—"

"No, damn it, that's _not_ all. What's wrong with you, Bozinsky?"

"What's—what's wrong with _me_? What's wrong with _you_, Lieutenant? What was all that grief you were giving us at the hospital, and at the police station? Calling us names, calling _me_ names, and acting like we're a bunch of fools. Haven't you learned _anything_?"

"Calm down, kid," he said quietly, knowing that Murray could shout with impunity, but if he raised his voice, the guys would come down here and put him in his place in a hurry.

"Calm—calm _down_? Is _that_ what you said? Why should I calm down? Why shouldn't I be angry when a man who—who claims," he lowered his voice and took a step closer, leaning over Quinlan like an angry stork, "who claims to _love_ me, treats me like a moron instead of giving me the slightest bit of credit. And in front of my friends, too. Is that what I should be calm about?"

"Yeah," he said shortly. "I'm not saying I would be, but yeah, I'd appreciate it."

Murray turned away and sank down on his narrow cot.

"So what do you want?" he asked, his strident tone reduced to a defeated sigh. "If it's just to say thanks, you've done that."

"No, that wasn't all. Can I sit down?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Yes. Murray, this is your home. You can throw me out if you want. But I got one thing to say first and I hope you'll listen."

"I'm listening." He was, too. His back was straight, his eyes bright and piercing, and everything about him expressed a single sentiment: _this better be good_. Ted decided against sitting and started talking instead.

"I'm sorry. I told you in the beginning that I had an image to maintain. I can't—I can't suddenly start being this other guy."

"What guy? A _nice_ guy?" Murray asked, the words dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, that's right. What could I have done different that wouldn't have had everyone looking at us? I can't change overnight, kid. You know that."

"I know you have to be an asshole when strangers are watching. But in front of my friends? You have to point at me and ask Cody 'what's this geek talking about', like we've never exchanged a civil word?" _Or body fluids_, his traitorous brain added, though luckily his mouth was a team player and bit it back.

"I'm sorry about that," Quinlan said humbly. "But that wasn't just about you. You three were making accusations against Commander Everitt, and I—I really thought he was innocent. Not that you were wrong, just maybe mistaken. I had a lot of respect for the man, you know. He was kind of a mentor to me when I was new on the force. And then you come in there, telling me he knocked up that girl, had a priest assaulted, wanted to kill an _infant_—his own _daughter_—what if I told you that stuff about Nick? Would you sit and listen?"

"No. No, I guess I wouldn't," Murray whispered. He hadn't realized it went quite so deep. "But, Ted, you have to—I don't know—show me a little respect. You can't always say one thing in private and do another in public. That's not right."

"No, I know it ain't. All I can say is I'll try. But you know how that's probably gonna turn out."

"With nothing changing?"

"Probably. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. If it's not enough, I understand. But it's all I have. This is it, Murray. Take it or leave it."

There was a long silence while Murray appeared to think that over. He sat on his cot, eyes bright behind his thick glasses, and stared at Quinlan until the other man was beet red and starting to sweat. The lieutenant had no idea what was going on in that brilliant mind, and if Murray had tried to explain it, he wouldn't have understood.

Murray was thinking about the hospital. He was remembering how Quinlan had insulted them in the hallway after they visited Father Bob, but he had also been offering to help. He'd said he'd call when he knew something. He'd said it twice, and the look on his face had been close to pleading. Somehow, Murray had missed that at the time. Had he been asking for understanding even then, mere seconds after the cartoon characters remark? Had that been regret in his eyes?

Murray smiled, slow and easy, low wattage but filled with satisfaction, and held out his hand.


End file.
